


loves, and hates, and passions just like mine

by lidiamartini



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, High School, M/M, Romance, Rowing, Swearing, crew - Freeform, hunk is 6 seat because hes the biggest and most powerful, i love rowing so you're all going to witness that, keith is bow seat because of his precise technique and small frame, lance is two seat because i wanted them to be pair partners, pidge is a coxswain and theyre all in the same boat, shiro is stroke seat because hes the reliable leader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lidiamartini/pseuds/lidiamartini
Summary: "Did you know that the rowing stroke is long, hard, wet, and explosive?" Lance questioned, turning to Keith with a grin."Say that again and I'm flinging you into this lake myself," Keith deadpanned."Did you know that the rowing stroke is lo-"Thunk. Splash."Drown, bitch."________This is your much needed Rowing/Crew team AU. I explain all terms at the beginning of the chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me here, all the terms will make sense but if you wanna know from the beginning, here’s a list:
> 
> V8- the top boat on the team which consists of the 8 fastest rowers and 1 coxswain (pronounced cox-in) 
> 
> Boat/crew- often when you say something like “where’s the rest of my boat?” you’re not referring to the physical piece of equipment, but rather the rowers themselves. (so if 4 of you are there and 4 are missing, half your boat is gone). A group of 8 rowers that row together=a boat or a crew. 
> 
> Erg- the worst machine to exist. Basically an indoor rowing machine. Used to measure how fast a rower is because it can record how fast they can row a given distance, usually 2000 meters (meters only are used, even in the US). 
> 
> Coxswain: An athlete that is in charge of giving the rowers directions, executing the workout plan, and most importantly steering the boat and keeping their crew safe. Coxswains are very small people, typically men’s coxswains are under 120 and they sit at the stern of the boat facing the rowers. 
> 
> PR: “Personal Record” or best time

Lance approached the meeting board slowly, stiff and uncomfortable with the aftereffects of a brutal practice. Pushing his way through the crowd of people already bunched close to the results sheet trying to see their own ranking on the team after the erg test, Lance finally broke through to the front. 

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself against what he might see. Best case scenario, he was in the top 8. This would put him in the V8+, finally giving him the chance to row with the fastest guys on the team and prove that he could be a valuable addition to the crew. Worst case scenario, he bombed the erg test and was now dead last. With a shrug, Lance imagined that even in that unfortunate situation, at least there would literally only be room for improvement. 

He scanned the rankings. Shirogane, Williams, Garrett, Markovic, Hennig, Navas…Kogane, Lance read with a shiver. And finally… Flores, with the number 8 typed neatly to its left.

8- Lance Flores: 6:23.3 minutes/2000 meters. 

Eighth. 

With wide eyes, Lance slowly stepped away as an unbelieving smile curled upwards on his face. Pidge, upon seeing him, gave him a slap on the back and a brief smile that was soon dropped when she turned serious. 

“Nice erg you just pulled- The coaches are probably going to give you a chance on the V8. Bring your A-game tomorrow. I want you in my boat, prove you deserve to be there.”

Lance nodded and stared her in the eye. “I won’t fuck this one up. They’ll see I can move a boat.”

With a sharp jab to his stomach, Pidge dissipated the serious atmosphere and forced a chocolate milk into his hands. “Here, finish this. I don’t want the rest and you need to recover. Bask in the glory of sugar while you’re still young and have a fast metabolism.”

Lance barked out a laugh. 

“What would I do without you?” 

“On the water? Crash, most likely, seeing as you’d have no one to steer your boat. Everywhere else? Mourn the tragic loss of your only friend who actually tolerated you. Such a shame, dear Lance, left without anyone to text at 3 AM and wax about Keith’s hair to,” Pidge said wistfully. 

“First of all,” Lance interjected indignantly, “I have Hunk, whom I love very much and whom loves me in turn, thank you. Second of all, don’t even try to pretend that you’re asleep when I text you. You lie like a rug, you dipshit. Third of all, it’s not waxing, it’s reasonable complaining about a haircut that very truly makes me feel sick with how outdated it is. David Bowie let his mullet go when it had run its course. Keith should know better than to ignore Bowie’s model advice.” 

Pidge stared at him. “Come to me when you figure out why you care so much about your teammate’s hair.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “But don’t do it tonight- you need to get to bed early. We can revisit this conversation after you show them all what you’re made of.” Without allowing Lance time to respond, Pidge quickly turned on her heel and jumped into Matt’s car that had just pulled up. “Ciao!” She yelled, flipping Lance off as Matt sped away. 

Shaking his head, Lance let out a soft laugh and walked towards his car. While pulling out his keys, he heard a voice behind him. 

“Nice job on that PR, Lance.”

Keith. The goddamn jerk couldn’t even accept that Lance had done something impressive for once, and now seemed to be sarcastically rubbing in his face the fact that Lance was still somehow slower than Keith, despite his PR. 

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re not going to be beating me for long. You think you’re the golden child? Well, guess what, I’m coming for your spot.” As if to emphasize his point, Lance stepped closer into Keith’s personal space and poked a finger at his chest. 

And Keith! He actually had the audacity to look surprised! “Whoa- I wasn’t trying to...you’ve got me all wrong, Lance. I just wanted-”

“You just wanted to brag, is what you wanted! ‘Oh look at me, I’m Keith and I’m better than you without even trying!’” Lance mocked. “Not for long, Keithey boy.”

Now this, this did get the reaction Lance had been hoping for. “Don’t you dare accuse me of not trying! I give everything I have to crew, it’s not my fault there are only eight seats on a boat. I earned my seat because I worked for it,” Keith shouted vehemently. They both fell silent after that, still breathing hard and shooting murderous looks into each other’s eyes. The night loomed above them, pressurizing the air and making their blood boil. Once it became truly unbearable to maintain their tense showdown, both Keith and Lance turned away and stalked to their cars, slamming the doors as they threw themselves in. 

Lance went to bed angry that night, and felt even angrier to learn that Keith’s god awful hair actually didn't smell rancid. Granted, it was probably sweatier than a plastic chair in summer but nevertheless, had clearly been shampooed. Lance was pleasantly surprised. Honestly, it was much more than he had previously expected. The bar was set very low. 

With nothing better to do, Lance transcribed his thoughts into a text and opened the group chat to sent it over to Pidge and Hunk. Upon reading the recent texts, Lance was disappointed to see that neither of them had bothered to reply to his text very cleverly observing that “any lap dance given by me instantly becomes a lap lance”. With a sigh mourning how unappreciated his jokes can be, Lance sends his biweekly hair observations. A response soon comes from Pidge. 

Pidge: I told you to save this for tomorrow. 

Pidge: Bed. Now. 

Satisfied that he had at least been acknowledged, Lance plugged in his phone and laid down for bed, preparing himself to fight for his spot on that boat tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the rowers are facing technically towards the back of the boat, the stern, which is why 8 (stroke) seat feels like the front of the boat to the rowers. They all follow 8 seat and finally the last person in the boat (bow) is one seat. Which is why when Lance begins reading the lineup, he doesn’t see himself until the end when he reaches two seat. It feels backwards, i know. Sorry. 
> 
> Also, “bow pair”= one (bow) seat and two seat. They’re responsible for keeping the boat balanced, and its SUPER important that they row in perfect sync, or else the rest of the boat is fukked.

Dust swirled around the air as Lance pulled into the parking lot of the boathouse sharply. His fingertips tapped quickly on the steering wheel and he bit his lip to distract from his heartbeat that was already pumping a bit too fast for comfort. As he jerked the car into park and flipped off the ignition, he took a moment to steady his thoughts and breathe deeply. With one final “fuck it, now or never”, Lance flung the door open and made his way towards the boathouse, making sure to wipe his face clear of any lingering anxiety. If the rest of his boat saw how close to throwing up he felt with nervousness, that fear would spread to the rest of them and soon translate to their actual rowing.

Because of how incredibly in-sync every rower needed to be with his other seven boatmates, a single person with a negative attitude could instantly spread that feeling without even intending to. Soon, the whole practice can turn to shambles, with every rower blaming the lack of synchronicity on the rest of the boat. 

Lance marvelled at this. After all, it was the complexity of rowing that made a truly talented crew so difficult to find. It’s hard to put your trust in eight other people, knowing that if one of them decides not to try hard that day, then the entire boat will suffer. Even harder still is the job of leading them all, Lance imagined. The stroke seat was responsible for setting the pace for the rest of the rowers and leading them to victory or failure. Now Shiro, he was a natural stroke seat. 

A well formed crew understood all of their strengths, and worked together to fix any weaknesses. As important as the stroke is, he’s nothing without the rest of his boat. Lance thought fondly to Hunk, who sat in six seat, mostly referred to as the “powerhouse seat”. Six seats are the strongest, and usually the heaviest rowers on the boat. Your typical six seat is the one who your cat loves more than they love you. To be fair, you, also, love six seat more than anything in the world. So no hard feelings. 

Stroke is actually the best.

Seven seat thinks they’re the best. 

Six seat just pulls their heart out with really genuine enthusiasm. 

Five seat is the party seat, the one keeping everyone energized on a bad day. 

Four seat just wants a bagel, really. 

Three seat was late. ‘To what?’ you ask. ‘To what were they not?’ I answer. 

Two seat is mad about the state of the economy and also how choppy the water is. 

One seat, or bow seat as it’s more commonly called, is the lightest rower with the best technique. They would brag about this fact, if anyone could actually hear them from way back there. 

Lance wondered what seat he would be placed in today. 

After quickly changing in the locker room, Lance grabbed his water bottle and moved toward the whiteboard to see the lineup of the V8. He started scanning the names, his heart sinking with every consecutive line he read that didn’t contain the name “Flores”. He was almost beginning to accept that he hadn’t actually been put on the top boat, after all, when his gaze arrived on two seat. With a sigh of relief, Lance made his way to the boat bay, where all of the racing shells, or boats, were stored.

Searching around the room for the rest of his crewmates, Lance finally found Pidge. He offered her a fist bump. 

“Try not to tear me apart on my first day,” he pleaded jokingly. (He was not joking.) 

“I’ll do what I need to do to make the boat move fast. If I have to scream in your ear every single stroke until your freakishly long limbs can learn to row with any semblance of rhythm, I’ll do it,” she retorted perkily. (She was not joking.) Lance gulped. 

“Now,” Pidge commanded, “go stand next to the boat. We’re taking it out now.” When she saw that Lance had made to move to actually follow her directions, she questioned, “Or do you actually want me to rupture your eardrums? Go!”

Lance scurried off just in time to put himself at a safe distance from Pidge when he heard her booming voice echo through the boat bay with authority. “V8, hands on the Hudson! Up to shoulders, ready, UP! Take it up and over heads, ready, UP! Split! Walk it out house, follow me. Stop talking over there, listen to me if you don’t want to ram this boat into a pole.”

Her crew members followed her instructions perfectly, and it actually would have made for a sort of comical picture if Pidge wasn’t legitimately one of the best coxswains in the nation. Eight huge and tall rowers, following a 115 lb, 5’1” coxswain in glasses, obeying her every word without fail. 

Once they made it onto the water and through the warmup, Lance was starting to get comfortable in his new position. As long as he was able to ignore Keith’s presence behind him in bow seat, he was having a perfectly dandy time. Every time that Keith made any sort of comment to the rest of the boat, Lance felt his temper start to rise. He squashed it down with reluctance. His first day in this new boat was not the time to draw negative attention to himself. That much he knew, at least. Any shouting would get him sent straight back down where he came from on the lower, slower boats. 

Pidge didn’t actually critique him too much on the water besides the occasional instruction about his oar placement, and for that, Lance was grateful. He already felt inferior to the rest of the more seasoned rowers on this boat, he didn’t need them hearing Pidge emphasize how badly he was doing, too. A little bit of criticism he could definitely handle, though. Because honestly, part of the coxswain’s job is to instruct their rowers and point out flaws in their technique. And if there was anything Pidge was good at, it was making sure that every rower was precise and sharp with their movements. She was relentless with her instruction, never releasing the rower until she saw a change in their stroke. 

What surprised him the most, though, was that Keith never actually mentioned their fight from the night before. Now that he thought about it, Keith didn’t ever speak directly to Lance the whole day. Which suited Lance just fine, thank you very much, but it was a bit disconcerting to pretend like it had never happened. For the time being, Lance was able to focus just on his rowing, and hardly noticed when it was already time for practice to end. 

Lance meandered over to the parking lot with Hunk at his side, who currently was more talking at Lance than with him, but Lance didn’t mind, content to just listen. 

“I figure if we have 48 people on the men’s team, I should really just make 100 cookies in total so that the women’s team can have some, too. Granted, 100 cookies is like...a fucking lot of cookies, so that might be a bit ambitious on my part,” Hunk reasoned. “Especially if I try to decorate them to look like our oars…”

Lance grew distracted once they reached the cars and saw Keith across the way. They made brief eye contact, and Keith’s expression hardened under Lance’s watchful gaze. Keith held the eye contact for a moment longer before breaking it and collapsing into his car. Creep. 

“What do you think, Lance?”

Lance was startled out of his wandering thoughts. “Hm?”

“About the cookies.”

Lance turned toward Hunk. “If you have the extra time, then go for the challenge, but don’t let cookies get in the way of sleep, homie.” 

“Yeah, you’re right I guess. Thanks Lance. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Of course, buddie,” Lance replied with a fond smile. Before he could turn around and get in his own car, Hunk spoke up again. 

“I can tell you’re going to be a valuable part of our boat, Lance. It’s been awhile since we’ve had a two seat that can move well with Keith in bow and I think having you with us is really going to change how we work as a crew. I’m really excited to see how far we can go,” Hunk said quietly. Lance stared, dumbfounded at the sudden mood shift. He stepped forward and touched Hunk’s forehead with his own.

“Thank you, Hunk,” Lance said with his eyes closed. 

They parted ways, and Lance drove home, wondering what he had ever done to deserve Hunk’s friendship. 

\----

From that day forward, Lance took up a stable position as two seat on the V8. For the most part, ignoring Keith’s presence behind him was easy. They moved similarly, which was an advantage for rowers in a pair. Because bow pair’s efficiency was so critical to the balance of the rest of the boat, Keith and Lance had to be in almost perfect sync at all times. Luckily, rowing requires no talking, so Keith and Lance could ignore each other every day and simply focus on doing their job. This system worked very well for them for a while. 

But all good things must come to an end, Lance supposed. 

Practice that day had not been going well, to say the least. Every single rower felt sluggish and the boat felt too heavy. Choppy waves and pouring rain made it impossible to take a proper stroke or keep their grips on the oars, and only served to dampen the crew’s moods and socks. Upon finishing the first half of their workout, the entire boat went dead silent. Their heads hung low and ragged breaths tore through freezing cold lips. Lance couldn’t feel his fingers, and his soaked through clothing stuck uncomfortably to his skin. His hands were raw and bleeding from where his blisters had been torn off by his grip on the oar, and his legs were cramping so badly that he could feel the knots in his hamstrings pop with every stroke. 

After a thirty second reprieve, Pidge finally spoke up, her voice projected through to the rest of the boat. The microphone on her coxswain’s headset sounded crackly and muffled from the wind and water soaked through. 

“Tell me what is going to change. Tell me how you will make this second piece better. That was unacceptable.”

Their heads stayed down. 

Finally, Keith spoke up, and shouted both because out of anger and for the loud winds. “We’re sloppy with our bladework. I can see it from back here in bow, and we’re not bothering to fix it. We need to buy in more.”

No. For the first time since joining the V8, Lance whirled around to face Keith. 

“Maybe we’re all just fucking cold, and tired, Keith. All of us want this practice to go well! Do you think you’re the only one that cares about this boat? Well take a reality check, every single one of us is just as qualified and passionate as you. So take a step off your high horse and start taking some personal responsibility.” He would have gone on, if not for Pidge’s voice coming in clear and blaring over the speakers. “QUIET.” 

He jumped and heard a slight ringing in his ears. Soon, Pidge continued. 

“We’re not going to get anywhere through complaining. And we’re especially not going to get any better through blaming everyone else. You’re a crew. You have to act like one, all eight of you. You are all a part of this boat, and I trust you to fix the attitude problems by tomorrow.” The power in her voice was one of the most terrifying parts of having your friend as your coxswain, too. After practice, Pidge was the friend that he has always known. When she’s on the water, though, Pidge doesn’t take shit, and gives no special treatment to her friends. Lance knew that he and Keith had fucked up, and while he was embarrassed and ashamed, Pidge was right. 

His only option was to grit his teeth get through the rest of the practice. While it wasn’t the best row they had ever had, it was an improvement over their first piece. That was enough. 

Once they made it back onto the docks and had cleaned the boat, Shiro approached Lance. Lance looked at where Shiro had come from, and saw that Keith had his hands in fists at his sides, but was staring at the ground. 

“You and Keith need to make things right between you two. You can’t keep ignoring each other just for the sake of making it through practice. If we’re actually going to succeed as a crew you both need to get rid of the animosity between you two before it explodes again. You make a great bow pair- trust me, Keith has never rowed like that before. You two are the most unified bow pair I’ve ever seen, and you’re not even on speaking terms. Imagine how much more in tune with each other you could be if you actually were able to tolerate each other,” Shiro explained gently. He had a small smile on his face and placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “I know how great of a rower you are- you and Keith together could make for an incredible duo. Try and talk it out with him. He’ll listen, I promise.” With that, Shiro walked away, leaving Lance to think on his words. 

Taking them to heart, Lance made a decision that physically pained him. He was, however, willing to do anything to help his crew, and this was how he could make the biggest difference. So Lance waited. Specifically, he waited next to Keith’s car on the curb and bided his time. He nervously bounced his leg and opened up his phone to distract himself. Lost in a text to his mom, Lance didn’t notice the sound of Keith’s shoes crunching on the gravel and approaching him. Only when he noticed Keith clear his throat several times did Lance finally look up. 

“Oh! Oh. Keith. Hey. Keithey. My man. What’s up? What’s going on? ¿Qué bola?” Lance rambled, in a desperate last-minute attempt to stall. Keith, though unimpressed with these efforts, did look confused. 

“Hey… Lance,” Keith greeted, his eyes brows furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

Lance stood up and took a step towards Keith. His eyes darted away from Keith’s face and avoided looking at him while he rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to… call a truce. I didn’t mean to start anything with you, but I was so certain that you were rubbing your success in my face. I’m just starting to realize that maybe I’ve…” Lance hesitated while he sought out the right words, “misinterpreted the situation. We’re hurting the rest of the boat with how we’re acting and I should take some culpability for that. I think we can make a really powerful bow pair and it feels natural to row with you as my pair partner. I don’t want to screw that up with some pointless fighting, I guess,” Lance reasoned uncomfortably, still not looking Keith in the eye. 

Keith sat in stunned silence, until finally he whispered something in a kind voice. Dimly, Lance recognized it as his name. 

“Lance. Look at me.”

He looked. Keith started to speak. “I agree. Today, we were all pissed off and cold and I shouldn’t have blamed the rest of the boat for just being human, you know? I tend to get obsessed with results and when everyone else can’t move at the same pace, I get annoyed," Keith paused for a second to regather his thoughts. He looked to be bracing himself for something, and continued, "It’s not like I’ve been really trying to cooperate with you, either. But I think we can get past it. So, friends?” Keith asked hopefully, holding out a hand. 

Relief poured over Lance like a cold stream, and Lance gingerly took Keith’s hand to shake it. 

“Thanks again, Keith. I think- I really think we can make something good happen.”

“Me too, Lance,” Keith smiled. And Lance smiled back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The coxswain regularly asks bow seat to take a singular stroke to adjust which way the boat is pointed, which is what pidge is asking keith to do in the beginning. 
> 
> and shits getting startedddddddd

Bow seat humor: the absolutely hilarious, slightly insensitive, and utterly defeated style of humor characteristic to every single bow seat while they’re on the water. Lance imagined that being stuck in the back of the boat for so long had to do its toll on a guy. And if no one can hear you anyway, then why not use a little humor to lighten your own mood? Though thus far, Keith had yet to prove this stereotype right. Lance was disappointed in him. 

In the middle of a particularly gnarly practice, Lance heard it. Angels starting singing heavenly hymns. The clouds parted and he saw the face of God. All pain left his body and was replaced by pure euphoria. Lance was not exaggerating now, just as he had never exaggerated a single time in his entire life. 

After Pidge had instructed her crew on the upcoming piece, a hum vibrated through the boat as every rower sighed with resignation. Pidge spent the break between pieces adjusting her line of steering, using Keith to shift the bow’s point. 

“Bow seat, take a hard stroke. Ready, row. Perfect. Way enough,” Pidge mandated. 

Keith obeyed immediately, but not without a comment just barely audible to Lance’s ears alone. Under his breath, Keith muttered, “I’d rather hike up the frozen solid Andes wearing nothing but a sombrero and a toe ring than have to take one more stroke today.”

Lance froze. Slowly, like how someone dislodges a jenga piece (carefully, without breathing, sweating profusely, and slowly, slowly, slowly), Lance turned around in his seat to face Keith sitting behind him. Lance’s eyes grew wide and a smile worked its way onto his face in disbelief. Noticing the movement in front of him, Keith locked eyes with Lance. Both stayed completely silent- Keith, caught in a moment of comical weakness, and Lance, the one fortunate enough to be its witness. Keith brought his hand up through the molasses-thick air and eventually placed his index finger against his lips in a “keep quiet” gesture. This exchange never happened, if the rest of the boat ever asked. The other seven crew members remained blissfully oblivious Keith and Lance’s all encompassing turmoil and mirth, respectively, in the bow. 

They were startled out of their reverie when Pidge’s voice cut through the silence. “Bow seat, take one light tap. Ready, row.”

Lance flicked his eyes over to Keith’s face. If looks could kill. 

\---

Lance pulled into the boathouse parking lot, instantly checking the water out of habit to see if it was flat enough to row on. His hopeful expression fell as soon as he saw the beginnings of white caps, and looking over at the flagpole saw that the flag was whipping violently in the wind.  
“So land day, huh,” Hunk questioned when Lance walked into the locker room. Lance responded with a pitiful moan, dragging his hands down his face. 

“Hunk, babe,” Lance drawled out, draping himself over Hunk dramatically, “our last land day was three days ago, and I’m still sore.”

Hunk pushed Lance off with a roll of his eyes, yet he still smiled so Lance knew it was okay. “Come on, you primadonna. Let’s just rip off the band-aid and pray that we’re not erging.” Though he groaned, Lance followed Hunk out of the locker room, trudging through doors when he saw Keith. 

“Do you know if we’re going o-” Keith started. 

“On the water? Don’t even get your hopes up, buddy,” Lance said. He patted Keith’s cheek like you would a pitiful child, and then continued on after Hunk. Keith stared, then shrugged when he remembered Lance had done much weirder. Just the week earlier, Lance had worn shorts with the words “Biker Babe” written across the back. This was unfortunate for Keith for a variety of reasons:

1\. All rowers are required to wear spandex. This is an accepted part of their uniform, as the tight fabric prevents it from getting caught in the wheels of their seats. However, this also meant that Lance was now essentially wearing skin tight booty shorts with the words “Biker Babe” across the ass. Keith didn’t know how to feel about this. 

2\. As Keith’s pair partner in bow, Lance sat directly in front of Keith and therefore forced him to see those godforsaken shorts every time they took a stroke. The gold lettering was not doing Keith’s eyes any favors as it reflected sunlight blindingly. 

3\. Keith did not know how to feel about this. As exasperated as he had been with Lance’s usual antics, this had also forced Keith to stare at Lance’s ass which, regrettably, was enviable. As the day progressed, Keith was less _forced_ to check out Lance’s ass and more... compelled. Again, unfortunate. Keith reconciled his blatant staring by calling it “Keith’s Entirely Objective Observations of the Ideal Human Body, Coincidentally Written By a Gay Teenager Who May Or May Not Be Basing These Observations On His Own Teammate, That No, He Doesn’t Have a Crush On, Thank You Very Much.” It was a long title, sure, but Keith believed in clarity in writing. 

Keith shook himself out of his reverie. He made his way into the locker room and after throwing his bag down, joined Hunk and Lance outside to see what the workout for the day was going to be. 

Lance turned to Keith. “90 minute run then weights after,” he informed before Keith needed to ask. 

“Dope.”

“I know,” Lance replied with a grin. Both Keith and Lance excelled at running, especially longer distances. Bigger rowers like Shiro or Hunk tended to get better times on the erg due to their pure muscle mass and size, while smaller rowers had a more difficult time making up for their lighter frames. While running, however, Keith and Lance could _fly_. 

A chorus of beeping watches sounded as all of the boys started their timers at the beginning of the run. The pounding of footsteps gradually grew softer as the group settled into a steady pace and grew less dense, separating naturally into various groups based on speed. Soon, Keith and Lance found themselves at the front, already well ahead of the next closest pod of runners. 

They found their own music in the thundering beat of sneakers on gravel, and their rhythmic breaths became the chorus. The water lapping on the side of the path harmonized with them, and Keith and Lance were content. 

“Truth or truth?” Lance began. Keith turned his eyes towards him.

“What?”

“We’re only…” Lance checked his timer, “13 minutes into this 90 minute run and I’m already bored. It’s not like we can do any dares while running. So truth, or the next thrilling option, truth?”

“Hmm…” Keith pretended to ponder. “I think I’ll choose truth.”

“Good choice. So, Keith, if you ever got stuck in Groundhog Day or some shit, what’s one day you would want to relive forever?” This time, Keith genuinely did think on his answer for some time. “I don’t think I have a specific day, but I’d like it to happen in a place like San Francisco or Amsterdam, probably. Just a city with endless possibilities. That way, I never _actually_ have to live the same day over and over again, since I’ll have a new choice every day.”

Lance hummed, partially because he didn’t really have that much air at the moment. Keith was really pushing them faster today, but Lance wasn’t going to admit defeat, that he was sure of. Keith didn’t even look out of breath, Lance realized indignantly. 

Honestly? Keith didn’t even look fazed by the run at all. His hair was pushed back with a headband, and the sunset shone off of it and illuminated his cheeks. Lance was starting to think that his shortness of breath could be attributed to other things than just the run. 

Keith, seeming to notice Lance’s eyes on his, turned ever so slightly towards him and flashed a quick grin. Regrettably, this then caused Lance to get just a bit too caught up in watching Keith, and didn’t notice a raise in the trail until he had dirt in his mouth and skinned palms. Yikes. Way to impress, Lance. 

“Shit!” Keith exclaimed. He held out a hand to help Lance up, and he took it gratefully. Once they got back to running, Keith looked over at Lance again and noticed him being extra careful with how he was holding his hands. 

 

“Are they bleeding?”

Startled by the attention he didn’t realize he had, Lance snapped his head up. “Oh, yeah. Not really a big deal, but rowing is gonna be hell for a couple days.” Keith snorted. “Ain’t that the damn truth. I’ll lend you some tape once we get back to the boathouse so you can make some repairs.”

Lance laughed. “Thanks man,” he said gratefully. 

About 20 minutes passed without either of them saying anything, but the silence was comfortable. Once Lance got too bored to stay quiet, though, he broke it. “You never asked a truth.”

“Huh, you’re right,” Keith admitted. “Give me a minute.”

(A minute.)

“Fuck, marry, kill: Iron Man, Black Widow, or Falcon?” Keith offered. 

“You play a hard game, Keith,” Lance said, narrowing his eyes. “Fine, fuck Falcon, marry Black Widow, kill Iron Man. Black Widow and I would make a power couple but we both know the Falcon would fuck me _right_.”

Keith choked suddenly. Lance laughed and took advantage of Keith’s momentary loss of speed to run ahead of him. Keith watched how the light formed a halo around Lance’s silhouette, illuminating his nice shoulders and arms as they swung to propel him forward. 

“Keith’s Entirely Objective Observations of the Ideal Human Body, Coincidentally Written By a Gay Teenager Who May Or May Not Be Basing These Observations On His Own Teammate, That Maybe, He Might a Crush On, Thank You Very Much.” 

After practice, Lance was almost at his car when he heard a shout from behind him. 

“Lance!” He turned around at his name. Keith was jogging towards him, holding something in his hands. “Lance,” he repeated, “hold on, I brought some tape. Take it from me when I say that driving home with raw hands hurts like a bitch. Here, hold out your hands.”

Wordlessly, Lance turned his hands towards Keith, facing them upwards. Keith stepped closer, taking Lance’s hands carefully in his own. Neither of them said a word as Keith gently worked the tape around Lance’s palms. They stood inches apart, reverent. Lance studied Keith’s face and marvelled at his eyelashes, his skin, his lips. All too soon, Keith was done, but neither of them pulled back. Lance was backed against his car, and Keith stood close enough that the air between them was shared. Finally, Keith looked up and met Lance’s eyes. Time was frozen and both Keith and Lance held their breath, else they disrupt whatever it was that was happening and remember where they were. Dusk was casting shadows on most of Keith’s face, but his eyes stood out, illuminated by the moon above. For a second, Lance saw Keith’s eyes look quickly down to his lips and back up again. Slowly, he started to lean forward; Lance could feel Keith’s breath on his mouth and was just about to-

“Hey, bozos, remember to bring-” Pidge started from behind them. “Oh!” She yelped, her voice reaching three octaves above her normal range.

“Pidge! We weren’t-” Lance shouted at the same time as Keith yelled, “This isn’t-”

“Carry on! I wasn’t here! Please never make me think about this again! What you two get up to in bow where we can’t see you is none of my business!” Pidge covered her eyes and blindly made her way towards her car, waving her free hand wildly in front of her so she wouldn’t run into anything. Once she found her car, she bellowed out, still not facing them, “Just remember to bring your suitcases to practice tomorrow for the flight!” And as soon as she had come, Pidge sped off in her car, clearly relieved. 

Keith stared at Lance, wide eyed. They had sprung apart and fell completely silent. Lance broke the quiet, with a soft, “So...”

“Yeah,” replied Keith, equally ambiguous. 

“See you tomorrow?”

“Great.”

“Good talk.”

They sprinted away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my house we speak salvadoran spanish, so I did my best to look up cuban phrases but my writing may still be distinctly central american without my knowledge. If you find any examples of this, i encourage you to point it out so I can find a better alternative! Thank you!

Lance slurred into consciousness, blinking heavily at his glowing alarm clock. 3:30 AM glared at him. He glared back, daring it to sound again. After the brief staring contest, the alarm blared horrifically and Lance scrambled to turn it off as fast as possible. With a groan, he lurched out of bed and shivered from the sudden cold air. Clumsily, he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and stumbled towards the kitchen to find breakfast and pack food for the plane ride. 

While Lance was excited and optimistic for the upcoming race in California, it was just barely a justifiable reason for getting up at 3:30 AM to board a seven hour flight. The anticipation of the race was the only thing keeping him from dropping back into bed, Lance noted blearily while stuffing his carry-on full of apples and bars. He thanked whatever higher power was watching him (The local corn gods, Zeus, and Jesus Christ all came to mind. He wasn’t picky.) that he had packed his checked luggage the night before. He gently nudged his mom on the shoulder to wake her, careful not to jolt her awake as he looked at her relax face with affection. 

_“Mamita, ya es hora de irnos,”_ (Mom, it’s time to go) Lance whispered into the darkness. She stirred, and sleepily looked up at Lance.  
_“Ay, coño.”_ (Ah, damn it) Lance laughed suddenly at the unexpected swear. With a sigh, Mrs. Flores closed her eyes one last time to gather her willpower to get out of bed. “Vaya, pues,” (Well, here we go) She said with a grunt, and immediately jumped out of bed with unexpected energy. Clapping her hands together like she was dusting them off, she looked at Lance and prodded him on the side until he started moving towards the door. Quickly, she placed a kiss on her sleeping husband’s cheek and grabbed the car keys. 

Once in the car, Lance put on quiet music and watched the street lights illuminate his mother’s cheekbones. _“Gracias mamita por traerme. Como cuesta levantarse a esta hora,”_ (Thanks for driving me, mom. I know it sucks getting up this early.) Lance offered with slight guilt in his voice. His mom looked at him in confusion out of the corner of her eye. 

_“¿Porqué me pides perdón? Para ti, mijito, todo vale la pena, ya sabes. Te quiero muchísimo, Lance. Nunca te sientas como si amargaras mi vida,”_ (What are you apologizing for? I’d do anything for you, you know that. I love you so much Lance, you’re never a burden to me.) 

Lance puffed out his cheeks and let out a heavy breath. His mother loved him, that he was sure of. Still, it did nothing to stifle the worry that he was asking too much of the people that loved him. Someday, they would realize that he wasn’t worth it. Someday, they would give up on him.  
Lance, unsure of what to say back, simply squeezed his mom’s hand and stayed in that position until she needed to turn into the airport parking lot. She pulled into his terminal, parking the car and immediately jumping out to help Lance unload his bag. He turned and gave her a kiss on the forehead. _“Te quiero mucho, mami,”_ (I love you, mom) Lance said before enveloping her in a hug. The top of her head fit neatly below his chin, and he rested there for a minute before admitting that he had to get going. He moved quickly towards the building, waving goodbye to his mom. With a final look back, Lance saw her waving furiously and blowing kisses, making as much of a scene as possible to embarrass Lance in front of his team. Faking exasperation, Lance rolled his eyes and finally entered the warm airport. He quickly scanned the room, his eyes eventually catching on Hunk, Shiro, and Keith sitting in some chairs. They all stared straight ahead with half lidded, glazed over eyes and puffy faces, appearing completely unaware of their surroundings. 

Lance sat down in the empty space between Hunk and Keith. He tried to make casual conversation about the cold weather. Judging from the purely murderous look that Keith slowly laid on him, Lance was the only one with any semblance of energy this morning. He snapped his mouth shut quickly, instead choosing to look around at his surroundings while drumming his fingertips on his thigh.

Once the rest of their boat showed up in various stages of consciousness, they moved as one unit through security and finally made it onto the blessed plane. 

With a sigh of relief, Lance flopped down onto his window seat, grateful to finally be able to settle in. He faintly wondered who would sit next to him. Lance didn’t have to think too long before Keith, eyes almost completely closed, collapsed into the middle seat. 

“Morning to you, too,” Lance greeted, raising an eyebrow at Keith’s disheveled state. A groan was his only reply. With a slow and languid movement, Keith lifted his head up and pointed to Lance’s shoulder. 

“This is mine now.”

Lance’s eyebrow crept even higher, if possible. “Go for it,” he said with a shrug. Immediately, Keith slumped his head onto Lance’s shoulder and was out like a light before the flight attendant could even begin the safety instructions. 

Lance watched the land drop out below him as the plane climbed higher into the sky. Slowly, his lack of sleep started to catch up with him, and the lull of the buzzing engine eventually won out against his heavy eyelids. 

When he awoke, it was to the feeling of Keith’s hair tickling his cheek ever so slightly. In his sleep, Lance’s head had come to rest on top of Keith’s, which had made for a very pleasant pillow. Careful not to wake him up, Lance opened his eyes without moving his head or shoulder. The dry air of the plane stung his throat and his eyes, making it difficult to swallow or breathe without coughing. By some stroke of luck, the flight attendant walked by soon after, offering refreshments and snacks. Lance lifted his head and mouthed “water” to her while holding up two fingers; he gratefully accepted them with a politely whispered “thank you”. Now all that was left to do was wait, he supposed. And think. And wait. And think about Keith’s almost-kiss. And wait. And think about how close Keith’s lips were to his less than 12 hours ago. And wait. And think about how Keith was sitting so close to him, still resting his head on Lance’s shoulder. And wait. 

Fuck. 

Lance groaned quietly, dropping his head back onto the headrest behind him. He looked down at Keith, cursing. Annoyingly enough, he had the audacity to look hot while snoring with his mouth open and wearing a ski beanie. The unholy trinity. 

Suddenly, a bout of turbulence hit the plane and Lance’s shoulder jolted, sending Keith’s head flying. 

“Fu-” Keith started, blinking wearily at the rude awakening. “Oh. Hey, Lance,” he greeted, still disoriented and exhausted. He turned his gaze towards Lance’s, inadvertently bringing their faces impossibly close. Keith smiled and contentedly closed his eyes before falling back into his own seat and promptly falling asleep again. 

Lance gulped. 

Keith snored. 

Blessedly, the pilot announced their descent soon after, and Keith finally woke up fully enough to sit up properly and lean across Lance to peer curiously out the window at their destination. 

“You ready to kick Marin’s ass?” Keith asked suddenly. 

Lance grinned wickedly at him, his eyes narrowed and his smile sharp. “You know it.” At that, Keith’s expression morphed to match Lance’s own; to any outside observer, they would appear to be just two good old American boys, doing what good old American boys do (planning a murder). Nodding in silent agreement, they fist bumped. 

As the plane touched down, Lance rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “You know what I’m *really* ready for?” he asked. 

Keith raised his eyebrows in question. “Hm?”

“Getting off this fucking plane.”

Keith let out a laugh. “Ain't that the damn truth,” he seconded. 

Once all the passengers had made their way out of the plane and into the airport, Lance’s boat congregated around their coach. 

“Alright, rowers, I’m sure you’re all exhausted,” Coran greeted with a clap of his hands. He received a groan in response. “I’ll take that as a resounding yes! We’re going to have time to stop by the grocery store with the women’s V8 boat before heading to the hotel and turning in for an early night. Sound good?” Without waiting for confirmation, Coran began to look around confusedly. “Now speaking of the women’s team, where are they?” 

Eventually, Allura, the women’s coach, emerged from a nearby cafe where Lance could see the other V8 huddled, each girl holding a breakfast sandwich like a lifeline. Their eyes were puffy with lack of sleep and every single girl was staring blankly into the distance, barely even noticing the food’s taste as they chewed. They looked like shit. Catching his reflection in a storefront, Lance decided that he looked similarly dead. 

Coran approached Allura and they began conversing about scheduling details and other rowing topics that Lance was too tired to care about at the moment. Drowsily, the boys were herded through the baggage claim and into the rental van that Coran had pulled up to chauffeur them in. They gratefully accepted the opportunity to sit down and close their eyes in the dark car immediately. All too soon, they had arrived at the hotel and were forced to wake up and move again. Stiff legs were not his friend, Lance decided. Coran brought them in closer in the hotel lobby and got their attention. 

“I’m sure you all know the rules at this point, but they’re worth repeating. Lights out is at ten, and everyone must be in their assigned rooms by nine. None of the girls on the women’s team are to be in your rooms at any time, nor you in theirs. Pidge, as your coxswain, is the exception, though she will be sharing a room with the women’s coxswain. Now, onto your own room assignments.” Coran pulled out nine envelopes with a name and a number written on each. “Here I have your room keys. If you lose it, bring your ID to the front desk and they will be able to give you a new one.

“Room 317 will be bow four: Keith, Lance, Brian, and Alvarez. Room 323 will then be stern four: Hunk, Rolo, Shiro, and Cam.”

One by one, the boys received their keys from Coran and made their ways towards the rooms. In the elevator with the rest of his boat, Lance turned to Hunk. 

“Buddy, this truly is a shame."

“I know, Lance, but maybe it’s time we start seeing other people,” Hunk nodded remorsefully. 

They both sighed, and with false dramatics fell bawling into each other's’ arms. 

Keith ogled. “Are they…Okay?” He wondered to Shiro, who snorted. 

“Yeah, this is just the first time they haven’t been in the same hotel room together. Different rooms equals no Bed Buddies for Lance and Hunk,” Shiro explained. 

Lance, sobering up and wiping fake tears from his eyes then looked at Keith. “So, it’ll be us then!” 

Mission red. Abort. Kill Bill sirens went off in Lance’s head. He instantly remembered their close call yesterday, What if Keith was uncomfortable with sharing a bed with Lance? He had to share with *someone* because there were only two beds and four rowers, Lance reasoned, but what if being with Lance was too much? Keith might regret what had happened last night, what if-

And then Keith smiled. “Sounds good.” Lance’s heart instantly calmed its frantic beating and the panic melted out of his chest upon hearing Keith’s words. 

Their elevator dinger opened and the boys spilled out, separating into their rooms once they had said their good nights. 

Keith tossed his duffel bag onto one of the beds, and Lance followed suit. With a heavy sigh, Keith threw himself onto the pillows, as well. When he spoke, his voice was muffled. 

“While I know that showering would be like, the hygienic and responsible thing to do, I simply…don’t want to."

Lance peered down at Keith. “Gnarly,” he commented, "but I can see the thought process behind it. I, however, am going to continue to care for myself as I am unfortunately entrapped in this physical form for the rest of my life. Also,” Lance paused, scratching his chin, “I think there was something sticky on my airplane tray table and I’m not about letting that sit on my body.”

“Good choice.”

Lance sauntered out of the shower ten minutes later, feeling much better after getting the mystery airplane stick off of his arm. He kept a towel wrapped around his waist and rifled through his suitcase to look for a change of clothes. Lance caught Keith’s eyes on him. 

“Like what you see?” Lance asked jokingly, with an eyebrow raised. Keith’s face closed off and he turned back to the book he had been reading, muttering something under his breath. 

Oh. 

Lance quickly dressed and shimmied under the covers of his and Keith’s shared bed, avoiding Keith’s eyes. Brian and Alvarez turned off the lights and got into their own bed directly across from Lance and Keith’s. 

Thirty minutes passed in which Lance just stared at the ceiling, and apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought it was stifling in here, as he heard a quiet “Are you awake?” cut through the silence. 

Instead of answering, Lance simply turned onto his side and met Keith’s eyes. Moonlight streamed in through the windows in pale, gliding sheets and illuminated Keith’s face spectacularly. Lance gasped softly. 

“What’s up?” Lance whispered. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith breathed. 

Their eyes never left each other’s, and Lance was transfixed. Without making the conscious decision to do so, Lance felt himself shifting closer to Keith, their fingertips barely brushing underneath the sheets. They both froze and held their breath when Alvarez shifted in his sleep, but relaxed again once he settled down. Looking back at Keith, Lance found that they had come nose to nose, close enough that Lance almost had to go cross-eyed to look at Keith. With a visible gathering of courage, Keith tipped forward and pressed his lips gently to Lance’s, more comparable to the weight of a butterfly than the pressure of a true kiss. Once he was sure that Lance wasn’t going to pull away, Keith kissed him again, with more determination this time. Snapping out of his reverie, Lance got the message to reciprocate and was immediately rewarded by the feeling of Keith’s lips curling into a smile against his own. 

Experimentally, Lance placed a hand on Keith’s side and felt his feverishly warm skin underneath his fingertips. While they kissed, Lance explored Keith’s chest, his shoulders, his arms. Keith seemed a fan of Lance’s hair, running his hands through it and every so often tugging in an attempt to bring Lance closer to him. 

And yet, they took their time. They kissed with a purpose. Rather than find how far they could go in one furious night, their purpose was to learn. Keith learned that Lance would get flustered when kissed on the knuckles, and Lance learned that holding the back of Keith’s neck while kissing him was the best course of action. 

They were only startled back into reality when Brian let out a huge snore, loud enough to make them realize what had just happened. Shakily, Lance laughed. Keith joined in, both at the ridiculousness of their situation and to diffuse any awkwardness that might ensue otherwise. Their hushed peals of laughter died down, and Lance and Ketih found themselves suddenly tired again. They closed their eyes and settled back into bed; their hands intertwined in secret, and both drifted into unconsciousness with a smile.


End file.
